


"Mima"

by KoroMarimo



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Sun & Moon | Pokemon Sun & Moon Versions
Genre: 420 blaze it, Daddy Kink, Drug Use, F/M, God - Freeform, Guess who I am lel, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, Sex, You know Guzma is about that 420 life, someone help me, what is my life anymore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-07
Updated: 2017-03-22
Packaged: 2018-10-09 10:04:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10409676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KoroMarimo/pseuds/KoroMarimo
Summary: To Guzma, Plumeria, and all other members of Team Skull, you were simply "Mima". A typical teenage runaway with a shiny Salazzle and a penchant for keeping your mouth shut. To Lusamine and the rest of the world you were a nuisance. Something to be gotten rid of. A Cutiefly that needed to be squashed underfoot.Oh how you loved being "Mima". Yet some part of you, the REAL you perhaps, still wanted her voice heard. The voice that had been indefinitely silenced by an unruly tongue, which in turn was caused by the catastrophic cacophony that was the life you had left behind.





	1. He Called You "Mima"

**Author's Note:**

> The beginning of a wonderful and fulfilling career as a fan fiction writer for the character "Guzma" from Pokémon. Let's start this career on AO3 right.
> 
> See if you can guess who I really am behind this façade.
> 
> For logistical purposes, here is the team you currently possess:
> 
> Meowth (Kanto Variation): Cupcake, the baby of the bunch.  
> Mimikyu: Clove, a traded Pokémon from an old friend.  
> Salazzle: Opal, a giant woman.

“Jeez fuck! You wiped the floor with me! Fucking kick ass Pokémon you got there. What’s your name brat?”

Why… Why do they always want to talk?! Talking was such an unnecessary tool. You’d worked around it for years, didn’t need any friends or familiar acquaintances to prattle with. The only friends you needed were your Pokémon, but it seemed that the people of the world were still determined to know you. It had to have been the way you battled, stomping a foot here, slapping a thigh, your Pokémon experts by now at learning your body language. A showy tactic meant to distract people from the fact that you could not speak properly. Or perhaps it was your Salazzle, Opal, her namesake due to the sheen of her white scales that reflected a rainbow in just the right light.

But why do they seek conversation? Can’t they understand that all you want is blessed silence, to collect your winnings and go on to live away from your father, away from that speech therapist…

“Hey! I’m talkin’ to you, what’s your name?”

He’s extremely confrontational, getting into your personal space and making sure his face is inches away from yours. He won’t let you look away, and no amount of closing your eyes will make him leave. Your hand is on a green and black pokeball, instinctively tapping a finger on it to let the creature inside know, your Clove, that he needs to save you and fast.

“M-Mim… Mi… Mim… Ah…” you gurgle, feeling the muscles in your face tighten, trying to summon your faithful little friend with his species name. It’s been a long time since he’d been called Mimikyu, so he hesitates in escaping and wonders curiously why you’re calling someone else yet tapping on his ball with attack commands.

“Mima?”                                 

You look up, his sour face melting into confusion much like your own.

“Hey… That’s kind of an adorable name.” he says at last, “What is it like, foreign or some shit like that right? Shit’s cute. Real cute. I’m Guzma, nice to meetcha Mima.”

Again your cheek and jaw muscles tighten, straight up lockjaw by this point. That always happens when others take the gobbledygook you spit out of context. But a correction can’t come no matter how hard you wish it. Can’t manage to correct him and tell him your name isn’t even close to being ‘Mima’ it’s actually-

“Hey Mima… So uh… Sorry but, I ain’t got the money you need.”

What? He’s kidding. Please say he’s kidding… You need that money. It’s all you’ve been looking forward to today. It would cover at least one more night at the motel and a bag of chips before you were kicked out from that little hovel. It’s the least he can do for forcing you into this shitty one sided conversation. You stomp the ground and pout, holding out your hand.

“Your little Meowth was wearing an amulet coin right? And ain’t it something like 20% of a tip for winnings? Sorry cutie, ain’t got that kind of dough.”

He shrugs with an apologetic look. This will not do. You stamp your foot and hold out your hand again. _Cough it up_ , your body says, _I ain’t got all day._

“Woah now little lady, don’t need to get a pissy attitude.” Guzma says, clearly laughing at your intent to be intimidating, “Hey, I gotta better idea. You hungry? Why don’t you let ya boy take you out for something delicious? Least I can do for that hell of a good battle you gave me. You’re straight up savage girl! And that Salazzle, shit’s shiny right?! Fucking tits. You like malasadas? I betcha you’re the kind of girl who likes a spicy malasada.”

You wanted to scream. You wanted to protest that food wasn’t going to keep you out of the heat nor would it solve the problem of where you were going to sleep tonight. Food for now wouldn’t suffice for later when you were scrounging up pennies to take a break from those damn beans and get at least a can of wet Pokémon food for your little Meowth, the sweet little Cupcake who never complained and even offered to share her food with you. Opal made due with tearing into Poké beans, but you always managed to save her something. This wouldn’t do at all.

Violently you shook your head and held out your palm to receive the money, but of course your shut mouth only misconstrued the action. Guzma grinned widely and took your hand in his.

“Excited for a date ain’tcha?” he laughed, “I like a forward kind of girl. Not much of a talker though ain’tcha? But that’s ok! Actions speak louder than words I guess!”

Honestly, you didn’t know what to do. Defeated, hungry and resigned to the fact that you would probably be sleeping behind the dump of the malasada shop that Guzma was dragging you towards, you allowed him to take you in and sit you down at a booth while he eagerly went to order. When he sat down bearing the gift of a single spicy malasada for you both to share, you wondered vaguely if he ever shut his mouth. He seemed not to mind that the conversation was very one sided. Rather he enjoyed filling the gaps with a distinct pattern: statement question statement, pausing only when you nodded a yes or no but then continuing to prattle on when there was a lull in the conversation. Admittedly it was rather cute, he seemed so excited to have a listening ear to unload on that you didn’t mind if he repeated himself or used slang that you didn’t understand. You were just so absorbed in hearing him become increasingly excited with your company. It was no surprise that you were completely caught off guard when he asked a question and actually left it hanging in the air.

“So… What’s a pretty face like yours doin’ here all alone?”

The spice of the malasada stuck in your throat. After choking a bit and waiting for him to continue with his innumerable words you realized he meant to have an answer. There was no getting out of it. He seemed eagerly waiting for you to speak, and only encouraged your anxiety further when he queried:

“Can’t you talk?”

You had to at least try. With all his kindness and willingness to make it up to you even after he couldn’t pay, the least you owe him is a word. You try to push the words past your lips. The mouth opens, closes. Your lips are pursed to form an affirmation that yes, of course you can talk. A disparaging “click click” noise emanates from your throat as you try to get the words out, facial muscles are tightening and refusing to move as your anxiety grows. How fucking hard is it to get the words out one might wonder? For you, it’s a nightmare.

“C… Cuh… C…” you struggle with the words. WHY is it so hard to get out? _‘Course I can talk. ‘Course I can talk._ It’s not this hard alone dammit! Why is it so hard in front of a person? Guzma cocks his head to the side and leans in closer, wondering why it is you’re clicking your throat at him. It’s not until you start hitting your head with the palm of your hand that he understands. _Come the fuck on words... GET OUT OF MY FUCKING MOUTH._

“Hey, hey! Cut it out!” he snaps, taking your hand away so that you can’t hurt yourself any more than you already are. Yet Guzma doesn’t let it go as you take out silent frustrations, a silent sob bubbles up from your throat, you’re ashamed you can’t even repay him with a kind word. At least you haven’t drawn in attention to cause a scene. Everyone is too preoccupied with their food to notice your silent outburst. They’re always preoccupied… They never see what’s happening.

“I get it now.” he says quietly once you’ve calmed down, “Don’t worry. You don’t have to say anything. I get it.”

But does he really?


	2. He Said He'd Take Your Freedom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Figure it out yet?
> 
> Added nasties to this, please be advised that explicit content exists in this chapter.

Well… Maybe he did “get it” after all.

What you had come to affectionately call the “impromptu malasada date” consisted of nothing but quiet. Blissful, lovely quiet where you studied the decorative placemats on the table and just listened to the others around you exist. It was nice, you didn’t mind either when Guzma just had to get a word in edgewise to break the ice. He asked simple questions sometimes that you could just nod to, but most of the time he just talked about other things, eluding a confrontation of what you had done. You would have liked to talk about it at the time though. It would have been nice to explain to him the first time that it wasn’t as strange as it seemed, quite the contrary, it was the only way you knew how to get the words out. Beat it out if you had to. Anything. It would have been nice to talk about how frustrated you felt.

But you “got it” too. He was trying to be considerate. Kind stranger. Thank God. A change at least.

Now you tucked away the placemat you had kept as a memento, stashing it under the bed while Guzma lay snoring next to you buried in pillows. Your malasada date, the motels, your father, all of it felt more than two years away. It felt like a century. Anxiety and shame had lessened in this time, you were still very much reserved and quiet but at least you could talk briefly without a stammer amongst the friends you had made in Team Skull. You’d even gained the courage to reveal your real name, but you were still willing to be “Mima” for them.

It was fun being Mima. Mima didn’t disappoint anyone with her reluctance to be talkative. Mima didn’t have to be perfect. Mima especially didn’t need to have a past that she talked about extensively.

For the first time in a long while, you were happy.

Rubbing your naked shoulders and shivering slightly in the cold, you returned to bed where you felt Guzma’s warm skin flush against yours, his arms snaking around your waist out of habit. This was a good place to be.

“Mmmm… Mima.” Guzma’s soft moan of pleasure echoed in your ear, his lips pressing against your shoulder.

He was always so clingy after sex, even when his orgasm only lulled him to sleep it was always fueling a desire to be closer to you. He was especially like this whenever returning from an audience with Lusamine. Hell demon… There was something about you she didn’t care for, something about you that was distinctly threatening. Whether it was Opal, by now well past level 100, or your influence over Guzma, nobody knew. But you were resigned to the house whenever he had business to attend to either way.

When he murmured your true name, you shushed him gently as you would a baby, kissing his rough chapped lips.

“Sleep…” you murmur back.

“Can’t… You’re too soft. I want you. Come to Daddy.”

Rough hands reached and groped any area they can find. Your thigh is poked and prodded by his hardened cock, good God is he hard, hot and ready for a fun time. You flirt briefly with spreading your legs and letting him take over, letting him pound you into the mattress and have his way until you're seeing stars and feeling like gelatin in the legs. But your constant state of sobriety disagrees, pushing him away and settling down in bed. Guzma has to rest. Otherwise in the morning he’ll be unbearable. Guzma’s attitude can go one of two ways when he’s spent an entire night making love to you. One will be that the home will be his refuge, and you will have to share it with him. He’ll be clingy and beg you to confine yourself to the house, following you everywhere, begging in his hurt little way for you to stay with him in his room while he gets high. While it would be nice to spend a day inhaling the hits he exhales into your mouth, it ruins your chances to make some money to help the house’s upkeep. Your wealth is the only thing maintaining the house when Lusamine’s well of funds runs dry, and unfortunately your presence has already caused her goodwill to waver.

The second mood will drain your finances even further. You love him, but Guzma intimidates the competition away whenever he accompanies you in the operations. His large hulking frame overshadows your innocent little façade. His possessive grip on your waist freaks out the guys you target for Pokémon battles. Tourists of the male gender usually have the most money (especially if they’re attached to a young woman), and unfortunately they happen to be exactly the type of men Guzma eats for lunch. You need to work alone if anyone wants to eat in this house.

“You’re tired.” you insist, “Had to d-deal with that stupid bi-bitch today. Sleep.”

Guzma stiffens when the words “stupid bitch” come out stammering from your mouth. You notice it for but a minute, passing it off as stress at Lusamine’s mention then proceeding to rub his head affectionately. You don’t want anything to happen to him. He gets so worked up and tends to hurt himself that you want to ease his anger. But you’re determined that won’t happen while you’re around.

“Sleep baby. Gotta get up early. Gotta make th-that money for you, so you can eat. Don’t have m-much at home-”

“I don’t want you goin’ out tomorrow. You need to stay home.”

His head rub ceases, and his eyes meet your own. You’re confused, frowning at him as though wondering what in the world he has up his butt now.

“We need food to to eat.” you say, slightly faltering. “Can’t just exist on air. You g-guys rely on me.”

“You’re not goin’ anywhere tomorrow.” He insists. He sits up in the dark looming over you, his voice full of much more conviction than usual. “You’re stayin’ your pretty ass home with Plumeria, and you’re gonna let Daddy take care of everythin’ for you. Don’t want you goin’ anywhere gettin’ yourself hurt.”

“How?” you say, “O-Opal’s strong. Always take her with me. So’s Clove. Cupcake’s getting there too, she’s the real money maker-”

“Stop.” He growls. Now Guzma looks angry, more so than he’s ever been. And what makes this anger even more potent is the fact that it’s directed at you now.

“That’s another thing, starting tomorrow I’m takin’ that amulet coin a yours and givin’ it to Golisopod.” Guzma continues his sudden rage, interrupting the protestation you can’t manage to get out, “I’ve had enough a you tryna take all the bills on yourself, tryna feed everyone, exhaustin’ your team for pennies. That shit’s gonna stop. I told you, you’re gonna let Daddy take care of everythin’ for you. All you gotta do from now on is stay your lil ass with me and look pretty. Stop tryna take on my responsibilities for me and let me do what I need to do.”

You’ve never thought he would do it. That was the reason you had joined Team Skull willingly in the first place. Guzma had promised and granted you your freedom, he wasn’t supposed to take it all away. Being able to feed your friends and contribute was what you lived for. For once you weren’t an encumbrance. You took the place of asset. For God’s sake you were a fucking admin! An equal, like pretty Plumeria who praised you for helping get Team Skull’s sorry shit together in terms of monetary resources. How was it that two years of usefulness had suddenly caused you to be demoted? Unless…

“Th-that’s Lusamine talking…” you said, angry tears streaming down your cheeks and wetting the bedsheets, “Isn’t it.”

A feral growl pierced the dead silence that followed your accusation, the sound of rain drumming against the roof had deadened to a weak pitter-patter. Guzma got so close you were inhaling his exhales, and he gripped your shoulders so hard a whimper of fright came squeaking out of your throat. This turned into a crushing hug, a Bewear’s arms, and Guzma buried your face in his chest.

“I’m not lettin’ her hurt you.” was his reply, “She won’t get to you. I’m not lettin’ her do a goddamn thing to you… I’d kill her first…”

What in hell had she told him?!


End file.
